The Heartless
by selena11anuri
Summary: Before she was Natasha, agent of SHIELD, she was Natalia, Russian assassin and seductress, but one mission, a defector with questionable sanity, and an american agent who won't give up change all of that. BlackHawk Pre-Movie
1. Chapter 1

[AN: This is my take on how Natasha (she's called Natalia because that was her name originally[comic verse]) and Clint (though he's never named cause she doesn't know him) meet. It starts in the middle so bare with me and all will be explained. (Also if you're Russian and/or know more about Russian geography than I do (being an ignorant American who has never gotten to go to Russia (but I would love to)) please bear with my inaccuracies)]

{{Disclaimer: I don't own either of the characters… or the universe...partly inspired by the Borne Movies... which I also don't own… I own nothing really T.T}}

Chapter 1

Natalia repressed a shiver as the wind whipped against her bare legs and between the straps of her heals and pulled her fur lined coat closer around her shoulders. She got many strange looks for the passersby who were all dressed more warmly than she was. No self respecting Russian would dress so stupidly they all thought as they passed, long pants, boots, and warm hats in contrast to her bare calves and flaming red hair that fluttered the breeze. Another shiver threatened up her spine but a her train was arriving, she'd be warm and cared for soon.

The 9:00 train out of Novosibrisk, south and then west to the Chinese boarder slid to a graceful squealing stop with a hiss of steam in the cold air and warm glow emanating from every open door.

Natalia hurried, her heals clacking across the cold concrete as she hurried to the cars. She could have stood on that platform for hours more but her cover was important from the moment that train pulled in to the moment her target was in her custody.

"Excuse me?" She asked the door man, "This is the train to China, correct?" Her English accent was impeccable and the man's minute expression of distaste and annoyance showed it.

"No English," he said in a heavy Russian accent and she distorted her face into a mask of conceit and offense before boarding the train with a huff. Inside was delightfully warm, like soft velvet after lying on concrete for days. Natalia stopped for a moment to sigh in comfort, make a pretense of gathering herself and letting her coat open down to the low scooped collar of her dress. It was deep red and contrasted nicely with her pale skin and black jacket. It was an outfit meant to grab attention and foster attraction, not something Natalia even liked though. Her heals made muffled noises as she walked the length of the cars looking for her mark. She wasn't surprised to find him quickly in a middle car on the first level halfway between each entrance sitting angled in his seat so all lines of approach were covered. He therefore couldn't help but notice her enter.

Over the intercom a voice came on with specifics of their departure and arrival times then asked all passengers to take their seats and prepare their tickets to be stamped.

Pointing to the seat next to him Natalia asked "May I?" in slightly accented Russian, enough to give the impression of an American but only enough so her mastery of the language was clear.

"Yes, of course," he replied, moving out of the way but putting his weapon, cleverly hidden against the seat in easier reach.

"You look well," She said when settled and began removing the heavy coat to show the tightly fit red dress and pencil skirt bottom that reached her knees.

"Do I know you?" Her mark asked cautiously.

"Not yet but my people know of you Agent Baranski," she said softly in flawless English, her American accent thick and slightly southern.

"Hmf," He smirked, "pretty women will not be enough to move me. I'm sorry the Americans will lose such a pretty, young face to a useless cause," he replied, his face a mask of polite pitty but his eyes dark and emotionless. It stole a little of Natalia's breath to see such a flawless Agent leaving the field. He must have been amazing. "You might have been effective somewhere else but alas," He went on.

"You may find my offer more persuasive if you give me time," Natalia offered.

"You have two minutes," He conceded. He's waiting for the tunnel Natalia realized as he gave the time limit. In the dark he could kill her without being caught if he was skilled enough. His smile softened and he looked at her with complete openness. Yes, she assured herself, he was skilled enough. Someone must think very highly of her to assign such a mission to someone so young. But her time was ticking and her act was going cold. With just enough tint of fear she went deeper into her cover.

"I did not come here alone," she explained, leaning in and whispering, "My partner and I were followed from Volgograd. You have not made may friends in the past few days. He… my partner," She paused let sentimentality, perhaps even attachment show in her empty words, "died in Chelyabrinsk. I come with an offer of asylum and peace. You want a way out, we can give that to you but if you turn it down you will not make it to the boarder. The assassin that took out my Partner will come for you even if I am dead."

"There are very few people I fear anymore, Ms?"

"Robin," she smiled and let her shoulders relax ever so slightly then tense up as she talked on. "You will fear her, the Black Widow?" She probed and got the appropriate response.

"That they would go so far," he muttered under his breath is Russian.

"Get off with me at Iskitim and we will help you out of the country."

"How do I know you are not the Black Widow herself?"

"Because she would not need to address you," Natalia said with a shiver of fear. "You'd already be dead." For a moment Baranski seemed to doubt her answer then went still.

"The Black Widow works alone does she not?" He questioned.

"Rumor has it, we've never observed her…" But he cut her off.

"It seems I have many fans," Natalia's eyes got away from her in a rookie move and scanned the car till they met piercing blue. No, she gasped in her mind as she looked at the boyish face. Even with the lines of time and stress it was a child's face and one she couldn't forget. He can't be alive, she tried to tell herself but it was a problem for another time but his eyes held hers and the impossibly long second passed.

He jumped to his feet hand to his waist and Natalia launched herself at her mark, removing her weapon from the folds of her coat and returning fire as screams went out up and down the car as shots went off.

Bang Bang, Bang! Hisss, Whoosh! Darkness feel in the car as screams of terror and shots of names and gods went on.

"Move!" Natalia yelled in Russian, her accent falling away in her surprise. I saw him fall, I saw him fall, she repeated to herself but it didn't change the danger. Her feet were moving, shoes hindering her progress as they hurried for the door at the opposite end. Heavy foot falls and grunting shoves followed her in the darkness getting louder and closer but there was nowhere to go. Her jacket was yanked from behind and she pulled out her second piece turning as the clothing slid off of her shoulders and got off two shots before a jab at her stomach didn't quite hit its mark but knocked her off balance and strong caloused hands found her weapons. With a quick twist she had one hand free but his powerful thumb found the tender pressure point of her wrist and the second pistol dropped to the floor. She knew where he was though and brought the butt of the free gun down hard on his wrist. He cried out in the dark and she dashed for the door and the footsteps of her mark. The train car doors flew open with a cracking sound and she was in the next car as Whoosh! The light was back blindingly. Her mark was already closing the door to the next car. The Black Widow gave chase.

Baranski make it three cars before she caught up, having dropped the heals. He saw her closing in and made a new strategy and bolted for the second level stairs, knocking passengers into her way as she dashed for the other set. Just rounding the corner, the man who'd started it all dashed past the upstairs door. He sent three halfhearted shots in her direction before taking her mark in the middle of viewing deck hallway. Screams of surprise went up from the passengers and Natalia burst into the aisle, her gun trained on the foreign agent.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the childishly face man warned spinning her mark before him as a shield.

"You gonna shoot him too, _Agent Robin?_" He asked in English with a cocky american accent, "That's not your real name is it cause my Director would be very happy to know if it was?" The man laughed, a grin plastered over his face as he panted. She could just about see the adrenaline coursing through him. His voice was elated but his stance was solid. The jokes were a ruse.

"I will if I have to but that's not what either of us wants," She warned him, her own adrenalin making it hard to stay still and aim straight but she was trained for this, trained her whole life.

"Your right," he shrugs, feet still stable. Suddenly his gun wasn't threatening her mark but pointing to the window.

Bang Bang, Crack, Whoosh! Wind exploded into the car as the man, crazy grinning, child-faced bastard jumped against the broken glass and toppled from the train car.

"No!" Natalia didn't think, didn't register the blistering cold against her arms, her legs, her face, whipping through her hair and jumped after.

Landing hurt like hell, more than breaking an arm, breaking a rib, more like both, only worse because it was cold! The gravel side way of the tracks slid under her as she rolled along with the left over momentum of the train and it continued to whizz by her for more than a few seconds. The sudden cold and the haze of pain gave way with the soft clicking sound of a pistol, her pistol.

"You're crazier than I thought, Black Widow," the real American agent laughed and she looked up into his childlike, stress worn face. "Cold?" He questioned, breath making clouds in the air as he chuckled. Natalia fought the pain that seemed to hail against her sides, the dizzy feeling in her head, the numbing, needle stabbing cold and let her training take over but her body wouldn't move fast enough, wouldn't respond as it should.

"You're lucky I have good timing," The American told her amiably. "The road is nearby, and in that dress hitchhiking will be a cinch." She felt his strong calloused hand under her arm, the hand with the bad wrist and didn't fight as it lifted her smaller body up into a shaking stand. It became very clear to even her throbbing befuddled mind that she wouldn't be getting out of this one at the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

[AN: Here it is. Less action this time (just lost of talk) but there will be more by the end I promise. It's strange though I didn't see many of these 'how they met' fics until after I posted one. I'm not saying I started it because it was_ going_ to happen.]

{{Disclaimer: Still don't own the Avengers.}}

Chapter 2

"Here," The American threw something dark and made of cloth across the small hotel room. It fell on her pale bare legs feeling just as cold as everything else.

"You're friend can help you put them on," he offered with an amused expression and his lips twitched up making him look like a child with a dastardly plot.

"He is not my friend," She spat at him in Russian.

"Just put the pants on her before she freezes to death," the American sighed. He was currently pulling up his own pants after tending to a gash her bulled had carved as it grazed along his hip in the darkness of the tunnel. He'd been silent through what must have been a rather painful ordeal and she smiled through the whole thing wishing she'd caused more damage. An inch to the right and he'd have fallen, she'd have put two in his head in that car, her mark would trust her and she'd be home free to Moscow. No it had been too easy from the start. She should have known.

"Sorry about this," Baranski said as he maneuvered his hands, tied behind his back and attached to his waist, till they could help her wriggle into the oversized pants. The American filled them out nicely but she was only half his size and they hung lose. Still they were warmer than her skirt and they covered the ugly multicolored bruises that blossomed like hail stone kisses on her legs. The trucker who had given them a lift back to Novosibrisk had given her an old jacket that was now wrapped firmly around her, held in place primarily by her bonds. Her elbows and wrists were tied to her waist and just below her breast making moving them and even her shoulders hard to move, and impossible without paining the bruises that were trapped under the ropes. She was contemplating the best strategy of escape; her training kicking in even as she was defeated. A sudden Thwack! Thwack! hit the floor beside her. She stared down, her heart racing against her will, and eyes wide as she looked at the small dowels that tethered her newly given pants to the floor, each was merely an inch from her foot and pinned her feet in the pants. Slowly she looked up to the American, her eyes squinting in a death glare that struck fear into the hearts of sensible men. This man was apparently lacking in that area because he didn't so much as flinch. He just lowered the collapsible crossbow he held so he could observe her.

"You," He turned the modified crossbow on Baranski, "over there." He nodded his head to the opposite corner and the traitor moved away from the Black Widow quickly, eyeing the weapon held comfortably in the Agent's hands. Thwack, thwack! Baranski was suddenly restrained as she was. He was as much a prisoner it seemed as she was. The American then approached and knelt in front of Natalia. Only her long years of training kept her from lashing out when his hands went to her skirt. He felt the tension in the material then drew a blade from his pocket and flipped it open his face blank and expressionless.

Natalia knew the expression of an expectant man, one who expected pleasure, one who wanted to cause pain and dominate, one who wanted to be dominated, one who expected nothing but blood on the sheets. She didn't know the face before her, she didn't know what he wanted or what he expected, and a shiver of fear escaped her meticulous control as the cold blade touched the bluing bruises of her thigh. The American slit the skirt with deft strokes of knife up to the ropes around her waist and pealed it back to bare her legs and black lace underwear. Knife still in hand, the American reached again for the pants, fastened to the floor and Natalia wondered if she could get her feet out of them before he gutted her. No, she knew, his reflexes were as fast as hers. But he did something surprising, pulled the waistband up her bare and bruised thighs to pull the drawstring tight and fasten them firmly around her hips.

"So you don't get away," He smirked and stood. Natalia's heart was still hammering against her ribs and blood pulsing along her body, fighting to get past the bonds that held her around the middle and wrists.

The American with all the practiced ease of veteran agent laid back on the hotel bed and looked at his captives on the floor.

"Now isn't this cozy," He smiled. "No one trying to kill anyone else… yet." He grinned.

"I hope there are bed bugs," She muttered in Russian and he just laughed again. Perhaps it was his default for stressful situations.

"You're funny Agent…?" He waited and she left him waiting. "Well I tried," He sighed.

"Her name is Romanova, Natalia Romanova," Baranski told the American bastard.

All humor was gone from the American's voice as he addressed the former Russian spy.

"Don't try to get on my good side; I don't like the people you worked for, I don't like the things that you've done for them and I especially don't like traitors of any kind!" Baranski took the hint and fell silent.

"Was he the first partner to turn against you?" Natalia taunted the American with a flirtatious smirk. A frown pulled on his face and the man on the bed suddenly didn't look so childish anymore.

"Drop the act," he muttered, "it's ugly." Natalia was shocked into silence. Men usually swooned at such a show of interest, especially men who played games with danger. But that line usually came when she was dressed in designer dresses and offering drugged Champaign and kisses. She had none of that and apparently she'd read the American wrong from the start. He didn't play with the situation, he just let people think he did.

"How old are you?" He asks suddenly, starting at her in a way that made her want to disregard all her training and _squirm_. The normal stares she could deal with, her body was an asset, a distraction tool, a temptation she was used to using it as such. She did like how he started with dark eyes and saw none of that.

"27," She responded in a clipped manner, maybe she'd been wrong and his only interests were physical attributes; even spies didn't want to be called pedophiles.

"Liar," he snorted. "You're no older than twenty." After a pause and she didn't react he went on guessing, "nineteen? Eighteen? _Seventeen? Sixteen?_" Still she gave no reaction. "Damn they got you early. Not even a twitch." He settled down on the bed not looking at her but not _forcing_ himself not to look away which was more unsettling than the stare.

A long sigh escaped the American and got up to turn on the scratchy TV, finding nothing of interest he turned it back off and took his seat on the bed again.

It was hours of silence, sitting, waiting, the norm of a spy's profession, before a beeping noise broke the symphony of passing cars and infrequent train whistles. The American leapt to his feet as if the hours of statuesque stillness had been only minuets and pulled out a cell phone, chunky but sturdy, meant to last.

"Agent 8953," He answered. A muffled voice could be heard in the silent room and Natalia could just make out what was being said on the other end, _"confirm Agent 8953, Denmark is a prison…"_

"My lord, we were sent for," Barton replied.

"_Location?"_

"Novosibrisk, Alpha 7, identification 56," he replied and Natalia rolled her eyes at the level of cryptic bullshit that the Americans went through. Democracy was truly a failings system.

"_Extraction in 42," _the voice on the other end replied.

"WHAT?" the American proceeded to curse under his breath. "Put me through to the Director."

"_He's unavailable,_" the voice replied.

"I've got the Black Widow," the American gritted his teeth and growled. Apparently bullshit wasn't his thing either.

"_Extraction in 36,_" the voice said after a short pause.

"Thank you," He muttered and hung up abruptly. He threw the phone on the bed and rummaged in his bag. Natalia took her chance to test the waters and shifted suddenly. The reaction was instantaneous, good as perhaps even hers. Agent 8953 had the cross bow up and trained on her chest, eyes focused and unwavering, not meeting hers, but on his target. The bow dropped and he turned back shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Natalia decided that surprising him wouldn't be that simple. From the bag he pulled out a flask and settled on the bed to sip from it contentedly; wincing only at the first.

"It was a good play," Baranski said suddenly to Natalia and she turned to look her traitorous former ally in the eyes. "I knew the American's were coming for me, I knew the Russians weren't going to let me leave quietly and you slipped in between, it was a good play. Perhaps not the best execution though," Baranski looked over at 8953 and the man just smirked.

"Give the girl a little more credit," 8953 shrugged, "most people don't survive spontaneous eighty foot drops armed only with a bow and arrow."

"Interesting choice of weaponry," Baranski said with a hint of recognition in his voice. "Perhaps your hatred isn't one sided. The unknown operative known as Hawkeye took out my lover in Kiev a year ago." 8953's eyes widened and he snorted.

"Color me surprised," He took another sip, "to your lover, he died well!" Natalia saw Baranski didn't so much as shift at the casual treatment of his lovers murder but 8953, who she now knew to be the famed archer Hawkeye, had more to say, "You killed, or you are credited with killing, my mentor, Agent Fredricks. I don't have a problem with that; it's his family I want to avenge on you." The mask of light humor dropped away from his voice as Hawkeye tensed with animal fury. Baranski relaxed and made no reply. Looking closer Natalia saw not relaxation but defeat. Baranski hung his head in guilt and stayed silent out of shame.

He had served his country well, made examples of those that deceived them and fought with the lowliest of tactics. It _had _to be done! Why then did he show such guilt? It went against everything Natalia knew, everything she had been taught since her early years.

"And you Miss Black Widow tried to kill us both," Hawkeye laughed, grabbing away her attention. He addressed Baranski next, "I suppose you should have a say in her fate then traitor."

"Don't blame her," Baranski said with pity thick in his voice and Natalia wanted to puke what little was in her stomach on him. But he went on.

"They start young, never having a chance to say no, never given any other way of life but this whoring of the soul," Baranski explained with sad and tired eyes, his shoulders hunched as much as the ropes around his middle would allow.

"I fight for my country!" Natalia shot back in Russian vehemently.

"_Your _country?" Baranski asked. "What do you own Black Widow? A name? a home? Family? Even the chance for one? Who did you say goodbye to before you left to kill me? I'll bet as many people as I said goodbye to before defecting:_ none!_" He returned in his native language.

"l serve a higher purpose with honor…"

"What would you know of honor? Have you seen men fight against the odds? With fists against guns? Have you seen a mother throw herself upon a grenade to save someone else's children? Have you seen men throw their lives out a window to save a plane of innocents? You don't know honor! You sneak up and bite a man so he dies alone in the cold to your poison, then walk away. You never knew him or his honor and you have none of your own."

"At least I have loyalty," she growled back.

"Loyalty to WHAT?"

Hawkeye stiffened on the bed as he saw the conversation heating up.

"To Russia? A country that does not even recognize you? You have no home here? No one there will come for you! Russia will not come and save you! She will leave you to the Americans or send someone to kill you just as she did to me. You are not important, you are not loved: you are a weapon!" Baranski's voice dropped low and almost pleading. "You don't see it yet what they have taken from you. Years will pass and you'll find yourself lacking. The death… the missions… the lies will kill your heart before you realize it's gone. I didn't cry for him… in Kiev I didn't shed a tear. I lost my heart a long time ago. You still have yours, don't let them take that from you too."

Silence fell over the room. Hawkeye relaxed against the headboard.

"Russia's greatest enemy," the American said to no one in particular, "her own people."

"And your spies are any different?" Baranski asked Hawkeye sharply without hesitation. The assassin made no response, his eyes remained on the ceiling and he swished his flask unconsciously. It gave him away.

"Your own partner turned on you," the defector continued. "For what? Money? Loyalty? Obligation?" he paused for a moment then laughed softly. Hawkeye sat up and growled.

"You don't even know!" Baranski laughed.

"Yeah, his corpse wasn't very talkative," Hawkeye growled bitterly. Baranski just kept laughing.

"You don't even know," He gasped for breath as he laughed, "I do."

"Yeah, was it your people he was working for?" Hawkeye demanded with anger buried deep in his voice. Natalia couldn't doubt that, at least, those feelings were real. She'd never heard emotion so well delivered, delivered truthfully.

"No," Baranski smiled, "he didn't need a reason. Those who turn do it because they don't care what side they're on anymore. The missions all look the same, the outcomes are all equally terrifying and no matter what they do it doesn't heal the hole inside them. You'll see. And then it will be too late. We don't make it past thirty; our bodies might go on a little longer but there's nothing left inside."

"I've had enough of your blabber," Hawkeye spit, "shut up or I'll gag you." Baranski nodded and leaned back against his corner, for all appearances asleep. Natalia did the same, her thoughts to troubled and swirling to sleep. Even as she pondered the two curious men she shared the dingy hotel room with she formulated plans to escape them.

[AN: Well two more chapters to go. They'll be up in a few days or so. I'm not good with regular updates. Reviews are much appreciated, they could almost be substituted for caffeine or chocolate... almost.]


	3. Chapter 3

[AN: Sorry this is a bit late. There's one more chapter after this. Lots of reflection here. It's just a shot of life for the two agents before they became partners.]

{{Disclaimer: Don't own Avengers.}}

Chapter 3

Hygiene, it was simple hygiene that gave Natalia her opening. Morning came around and Hawkeye was preparing to be picked up. The sound of a toothbrush reverberating in ones skull fills the ears, it prompts sensations that distract attention. It was a 60 second opening, or less and Natalia made good use of it. The pants ripped with a hearty tug and, ignoring the throbbing bruises on her arms, Natalia propelled herself gracefully to her feet. Hands still immobile she rolled over the bed to where Hawkeye's phone lay and knocked it to the floor. With her small toes she dialed the emergency number then kicked the phone under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Natalia turned to see Hawkeye glaring at her across the room and she grasped with her numb hands desperately for the crossbow on the bed. She cursed in Russian as he came over, dodged a few well aimed kicks then knocked her off balance and over the bed. She crashed gracelessly to the floor on the other side.

"You should have stayed put," He told her as he came around to where she was. A length of rope was round her ankles before she knew it and then pulled tight toward the end of the bed. She looked down to see both of her feet tied to the bottom of the bed post and she groaned.

"Bastard!" She spat at him. Hawkeye just shook his head and went back around the bed to check on his weapons. Idiot, she thought to herself. She could see from where she lay on the floor that the phone was still on and the call hadn't ended. With a little luck she'd be free in a few minutes. The only unknown was sitting in the corner watching her calmly. She could see no intention of calling her out on trick in Baranski's gaze so she'd bide her time for now.

The Novosibrisk police were quick to respond and burst into the room without warning exactly three and a half minutes later.

"Hands up, UP!" They yelled as they entered. Hawkeye made a dash for the crossbow but all his luck failed him as a baton came down at him a little faster than he could dodge and he feel like a sack of bricks to the carpet.

"Are you alright Miss," one asked as he released Natalia and she pulled out the tears, blubbering in relief as she was released. All the while her eyes remained on Baranski as he was similarly released and they were both led out of the room quickly with blankets over their shoulders.

The American groaned on the floor and rolled over.

"There's been a mistake," he muttered in badly accented Russian. Natalia could hear him trying to worm his way out of the situation as she was led out to the ambulance in the parking lot.

"You're safe now miss," the officer with her said assuringly, "We'll get this all worked out."

"Thank you, thank you," She said with utmost sincerity as she lifted his handcuffs and hid them in her blanket.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" The EMT asked.

"No, no," Natalia shook her head. "Just some bruises."

"We should still take you to the hospital to make sure there's no internal damage."

"We'll have some questions first," the police officer said.

"Get them over with quickly then!" the EMT demanded.

"I'll go get my superior," He ran off leaving Natalia, Baranski and the EMT who began gathering things out of the truck.

"There's a cut on your cheek I want to…" she trailed off as she turned around to the empty bumper where her patients had been sitting.

"Where is the woman?" The police officer had returned. The EMT just looked at him in confusion and he looked around at a loss.

"You're a promising agent Natalia Romanova," Baranski told her as she fixed the cuffs more firmly around his wrists.

"Be quiet," She muttered and began punching numbers on the phone she'd lifted from the EMT. Holding it to her ear she had only to wait one ring before it was picked up by a man with a deep, anxious voice.

"_Black Widow, you're late! What has taken so long?"_

"I have Baranski in custody. I'm in Novosibrisk." She answered curtly.

"_The freight yard, a team will find you, four hours," _was the only curt reply before the line disconnected and she dropped the phone into the week old, soot darkened snow.

"Walk," She commanded and pushed Baranski along. For a few long moments they walked along the back streets of Novosibrisk in silence, their breath rising up in clouds until Natalia's curiosity got the better of her. It would be her undoing eventually, she suspected. She'd get a little too curios, a little too deep, a little too involved and then she'd be compromised.

"Why didn't you call me out, you could have gotten away?" She asked her prisoner, giving in to her nature. "Why are you not trying to escape now?" She went further. "You could overpower me at any moment, why don't you?"

Baranski's only reply was to laugh, leaning his head back to look at the sky.

"You're a promising agent and that's why you don't understand," He laughed. "They're wrong; you don't send a spy after a fallen spy, you send a humanitarian. That American knew why."

"Why?" She growled out, annoyed now.

"He still has a heart," Baranski said to himself then to her, "I didn't call you out because it doesn't matter. Even if I made it out of Russia I could never live normally after everything that I've seen, everything I've done, the red in my ledger…. The only other option is death and I've seen enough to know it doesn't matter how you go." Natalia shook her head. For a moment in the dingy hotel she'd started thinking about what he'd said about 'men of honor.' She couldn't think of anyone that would act as he described but it seemed even he had no respect for their deaths.

"You're full of shit," She told him in a matter of fact voice. "You claim to believe in honorable deaths yet you deem all death the same."

"For some of us, yes," he nodded, conceding her point, "there is an honorable death, but I know I won't get one of those. I'm too far gone."

They were silent for a few more minutes before Natalia's curiosity got the better of her one last time.

"And what about me? Am I like you? 'too far gone'?" She asked. Mistakenly she let her eyes meet his brilliant blue ones and her shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

"You didn't kill him," Baranski pointed out and Natalia just turned away. She didn't kill Hawkeye, she could have, perhaps she should have, perhaps he would kill her one day but perhaps there was another reason….She turned away from that line of thought because it disturbed her.

But the blue eyed, child faced, stress worn, crass American wouldn't leave her mind alone. He was a silent presence, like a sniper, a ghost or a hawk overhead in her memories and as her back up escorted her and her prisoner to Moscow she had to consciously keep her mind from wandering back to that dingy hotel room, his humorless smile, and his words…

"_Drop the act; it's ugly." _ Those words most of all stuck with her. Is it just the act that he dislikes? What did he see? What gave me away? What did he know was real? What was real?

"…_it's his family I want to avenge on you." _ Death on the battlefield, literal or figurative seemed acceptable but total war was not… family was sacred... Stupidity! It was better not to have any thing to care about, nothing to be hurt by. Perhaps Hawkeye was one of those misguided 'men of honor' Baranski praised. Maybe the American agent would die 'honorably.' Natalia wouldn't know the difference anyway.

"_Yeah, his corpse wasn't very talkative."_ There was bitterness and anger in the words, but not externally directed anger. He wanted to direct it elsewhere, his jump to Russian double spy showed as much, but the real anger was within, was bubbling under the surface in his bloodstream, was painting the inside of his eyelids with uncertainty. Maybe that's what made him wait on the train till he was made, or keep her alive in the hotel rather than kill her, or jump out the train window with only half a though…. He's an idiot, she told herself. His partner's betrayal wasn't his fault. He should have only noticed sooner what was going on but he wasn't dead which counts for something, he did get knocked off an 80 foot cliff and manage to shoot his partner though the eye with an arrow at the same time. Natalia knew her later shot, through the center of the dying man's forehead had given her away all the way back in Chelyabinsk but it was too late to regret the past. A small smile pulled at her lips of true amusement, amusement at her own stupidity because she didn't regret giving away her position and meeting Hawkeye. It was irrational; irrationality was stupidity; stupidity got you killed.

I will not remember him, Natalia resolved. I made a mistake, she told herself, doing so again would put me at risk and thus my country, and more importantly my country….

"_The death… the missions… the lies will kill your heart before you realize it's gone." _Baranski's words now. Unconsciously her gaze darted to where he sat in the corner of the rattling car that sped down the highway. He was looking back, gaze level, blue eyes no less piercing and his words reverberated in her mind proving wrong all she'd previously tried to lie her way into believing; _"You didn't kill him."_

* * *

Damn woman, damn phone, damn Russian police, damn hiygene! Clint thought to himself darkly. If this gets me killed they'll never stop laughing about it. Taken down by the damned patrol cops! But of course that would be too kind, he tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes as a dark coated figure walked past the door of his police car cell and it unlatched.

"Excuse me officers," the man said in flawless Russian. "What is going on here?"

"Nothing to worry about sir," The policemen assured the newcomer, failing to notice his captive slipping from the car and disappearing into the other parked vehicles nearby. There Hawkeye waited until the disguised American agent walked back across the street to a dark van. Clint made a quick dash across the icy road then snuck, hunched over to the van where he was pulled quickly inside.

"What was that?" The agent who'd gotten him out asked harshly.

"What do you mean?" Clint asked as one of the other two people in the car began to unlock his handcuffs. "Black Widow pulled one over me."

"_The_ Black Widow?" the driver asked.

"Yes!" Clint finally pulled out of the handcuffs and rubbed his wrists. "Did you bring my bow?"

"Boss's orders," The agent who released him said in a professional voice as he passed over a briefcase.

"She got the drop on you?" The other agent asked skeptically. "Well just proves the rest of us right, you're not suited to be an agent! They should never have let you out in the field!"

"She'd have killed you at first sight!" Clint shot back as he checked the contents of the case.

"I wouldn't have let her _and _my target slip away," He retorted.

"No!" Clint snapped the case shut, satisfied that everything was in order, "You'd have never captured either in the first place!" Then to the driver he added. "Take me to the train station."

"Why?" The agent who'd opened the police car asked sharply and Clint began to get the feeling he was the leader of the small recovery team.

"So I can get back to my mission," Clint growled through clenched teeth.

"Your mission ended when Black Widow got away with the defector!"

"No!" Clint shook his head. "I can still salvage this."

"He's dead by now," the other agent said softer out of rationality but Clint just continued to shake his head.

"That's not her plan, I know it. There'd be no need for all of this if it was. She needed him alive," Clint continued adding in his head, _but why leave me alive. She could have… should have done more than she did. There were ways… why didn't she kill me?_

"That doesn't mean you'll find them!" The leader lashed out.

"Just drop me at the train station and tell my handler you never even saw me," He offered sarcastically.

"Colson won't be happy," the other agent noted.

"Screw Colson and screw you!" Clint slid open the door behind him and stepped out into the cold Novosibrisk wind. He'd gone three steps when the leaders voice called out to him.

"Barton! We'll give you a ride." He sounded extremely reluctant but Clint was immensely relieved. He didn't want to walk all the way back to the train without a coat.

[AN: Ending coming soon.]


	4. Chapter 4

[AN: The final chapter! Sorry it took so long to publish. My computer has been in storage for over a week and I didn't get a chance to publish this before that. Hope you enjoy –Selena]

{{Disclaimer: Nope I don't own Avengers.}}

Chapter 4

Natalia looked troubled even from such a distance. Clint squinted down his arrow, the bow not near full draw but held taunt and a straight shaft notched at his fingers. Her posture, the tilt of her head, something small and almost imperceptible was different about Natalia from how she stood on the Novosibrisk platform two days before. Up close Clint would have over looked it, never noticed the small change but he had always seen better at a distance. From high up the whole picture was much clearer. Things got messy in close quarters and lines blurred together. The insides of small dingy hotel rooms were blurry. Empty Moscow storage yards from a quarter mile 500 feet were clear.

Natalia had Baranski tied up and at her side, the barrel of a gun pointed against his ribs. She faced the away from the rising ruins of an abandoned factory and stood sidelong to the railroad overpass where he'd made his nest. From where Clint was he could watch the approach on the road and the Black Widow easily as he had for the past half hour. Despite the biting cold though she seemed unbothered by the wait while the usually patient archer was fighting off shivers. Hawkeye watched as Baranski said something to Natalia and she quieted him.

It was a few more minutes before headlights came round the corner and two dark cars pulled up in front of Natalia and her prisoner.

Clint couldn't hear what they said but he could make out the tone, the congratulations of the man who seemed to be in charge and the contrasting tension in his guards and right hand man. Natalia seemed to pick up on it and her posture shifted even more. Hawkeye hesitated to pull his bow to full draw.

The plan was to take out as many guards as he could before they got back into their cars then blow up the road and pick off the rest of them before taking Baranski and anyone remaining back to America. If his plan worked it would far overshadow his past failure in Novosibrisk. It might finally quell the rumors that he wasn't meant for the job, that the John Doe ex-con pulled out of California State Prison was just Colson's humanity getting away from him. Clint flexed his fingers around the bow. This had to work.

But there was one small flaw in his plan, a small speck so small it could have been nothing except… Clint cursed under his breath and un-notched his arrow, reaching back to pull a new one, this one marked by three raised bands around the notch. To a watching eye the motion was one smooth continuous stream and the arrow never seemed to touch the bow before it was loosed and flying. It hit the ground just behind Natalia with a hiss and thwack that spread a fine mist of water into the air and turned all heads to the spot. Though nothing was hit the purpose was clear as a red line was illuminated in the mist cloud, ending on Natalia's chest.

"No!" Baranski yelled suddenly as he lunged over, unbalanced by his bonds, and a second before the crack of a sniper rifle filled the air.

"Wha…?" Clint's eyes widened as he watched the defecting Russian spy fall to the ground in front of Natalia with a red haze hanging before him.

Then everything went to hell. Natalia dove for a low cement wall, her weapon coming up against her employers who returned fire at her. Unknowingly they were caught between the crossfire of Natalia's rapid, low angled shots, and Clint's rain of deadly arrow. His first shot was high and three men crumpled under sharp tipped shafts before the first even landed. It spread a cloud as well, darker and obscuring; it gave Natalia the cover she needed to make a break for the fence line under the railroad overpass.

Clint didn't think twice about joining her, clipping his repelling wire to the rails and dropping. The sniper would be on the move so he didn't worry about being shot, there was no angle from that point to the railroad or he'd have taken out the killer himself.

Natalia had scaled the fence by the time he landed and was reloading her clips deftly.

"This way," Hawkeye yelled as he loaded his bow and that was all the conversation before they were under fire from the remaining Russians. With as much return as they could manage, the two loan agents made a break for cover across the rocky field that separated the abandoned yard from a side road where Clint had parked his car. Wordlessly he unlocked it and, not pausing to put on the seatbelts, sped into the Russian night.

They were both panting hard as the car made its way along the highway.

"_Some_ friends," Hawkeye noted sarcastically between gasps of air.

"They're usually not so bad," She whispered, chest still heaving and looking paler than when he'd last seen her.

"You going to puke?" He asked her, it was a logical reaction. He'd wrenched on the floor the first time a man had been killed next to him

She hesitated before answering, then, setting her face, she shook her head.

"Honorable men…" she said finally.

"What?" Clint glanced away from the road to see what she meant but her expression didn't tell him anything.

"Honorable men," She repeated then explained, "He said that he wouldn't get one of those deaths… like honorable men… he… he was wrong…" Clint felt a smile pulling at his face.

"You actually listened to him?" he asked in amazement and his companion fell silent. They were breathing normally and Clint was driving the speed limit when she spoke again.

"Why didn't you let them kill me? Wouldn't it be easier to take Baranski or one of the others without me in the way?" She asked and he could feel her piercing green eyes on him so he composed his face though he knew she'd see it and he shrugged.

"He said they'd steal our hearts eventually… you've still got one," He glanced away from the road to level her with his blue eyes in which she could see his understanding. Just like Baranski he could see that she'd spared his life but also that she had no concrete reason for doing so. But he was the same; in his look she could see that he had no more reason to save her than she had to spare him.

"How do you know I won't just kill you?" She asked.

"I don't," He replied, eyes on the road. "But I don't want to be America's weapon and I think you're fed up with being the Russian's hand. So what do you say Natalia Romanova, how would you like to work with me instead?"

"Work for _who_?"

"Does it matter?" He asked.

"I guess not," She replied, her thoughts on Baranski.

"Huf," Clint laughed, "my handler's not going to be happy; you're not the spy he expected."

"Good," she said and he had to turn because he wanted to see the smile in her voice on her face. It took his breath away for a moment. To think that the face holding that beautiful smile had been twisted in a mockery of emotion two days before. She was gorgeous like this, dirt covered and emotional, cutting ties and making new ones.

"I don't know your name," she noted and he realized he was staring.

"Clint Barton," he introduced himself, looking back at the road.

"You can call me Natasha," She replied, "I think it suits me better." And it did.

FIN

[AN: Sorry for the shortness. Thanks for reading and please review. –Selena]


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